Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow
by masquerade5020
Summary: Yesterday, the stroke of a pen brought the world to a screeching halt. Today, there's no time for mourning, there's a war to be won. And tomorrow, well, tomorrow is never guaranteed.


**November 16, 2004**

 _Dong… Dong... Dong…_

Winchester Cathedral's bells tolled the witching hour as snow drifted quietly down, quickly covering the almost frozen ground. Christmas was still a little over a month away, yet storefronts had already been decked out for the upcoming holiday season. With the snow falling gently, the brightly colored lights, evergreen wreaths, and figures of Father Christmas, one may have thought they'd walked right into a holiday card.

 _Dong… Dong… Dong…_

Streetlamps illuminated a young woman who stood alone on the sidewalk, listening to the bells that were so reminiscent of those that had tolled at a funeral mere weeks before. The wind lifted auburn hair lightly as she gazed toward the distant steeple, her breath creating soft little clouds of fog with each exhalation. She was lost; not geographically, but in life.

 _Dong… Dong… Dong…_

As it was wont to do, fate had thrown a cruel twist in her story. Her dearest friend, her childhood guardian, and her pride in herself as a detective had disappeared with a few strokes of a pen. _There's nothing you could have done_ they'd told her, but the self-blame remained. A storm of regret and sorrow raged in the young woman's mind; perceived shortcomings and mistakes attacking her psyche like a knife.

 _Dong… Dong… Dong…_

She didn't realize she was crying until her tears had nearly frozen on her cheeks. She brushed them away with gloved fingertips, and lifted her face skyward, taking deep breaths to try and calm herself. It had been years since she'd cried so much…

X X X

 _A girl, just shy of seven years old, huddled on a large, plush bed, arms wrapped tightly around her legs._ Her thin chest racked with poorly suppressed sobs, lamenting the recent loss of her parents and her home. By not drawing attention to herself, she hoped she might simply disappear, so that she would not feel such pain anymore. Her attempt to be insignificant soon failed, however, for she looked up to find a small, black-haired boy, sitting at the foot of her bed; no doubt drawn in by the keening she'd sought to quiet.  
"Why are you crying?" the boy questioned. His unwavering stare and wide, curious eyes made her feel as though she were some sort of fascinating exhibit. She remained silent and pressed her forehead to her knees, squeezing her eyes shut tight and hoping the strange boy would leave.  
"I'll figure it out if you won't tell me. I'm good at figuring out mysteries." he said when she didn't respond, which caused her to raise her head in spite of herself. He'd moved closer, and now sat mere inches from her face. The young girl let out a startled squeak and toppled backwards, coming to a stop against the mahogany headboard.  
"I d-don't want t-to talk about it…" she stammered. The boy continued to stare; he seemed to be trying to deduce what was wrong simply by looking at her. As they regarded each other, another tear trickled down the girl's cheek, which, of course, was immediately noticed by the boy.  
Before she could make a move, his finger had darted out and snatched up the teardrop, which he then held so close to his face to examine he became momentarily cross-eyed. The girl gaped, flabbergasted that he'd had had the nerve to do such a thing, then reached out and smacked the tear right of his hand. This broke his concentration, and he finally blinked, sliding back away from her to a normal speaking distance.  
"I've upset you worse haven't I?" he muttered, chewing at the end of his thumb. "I'm sorry."  
The little girl watched him, not quite sure what to think; at least he was apologizing. "I-it's alright, you were just curious." she said, a little offhandedly.  
The boy brightened immediately upon hearing that he was forgiven, a timid smile creeping upon his face. "I'm Eru"  
"Sora."  
"Sora… I suppose we're friends now." he stated, nodding curtly.  
She blinked. As far as she was aware, simply introducing oneself did not equal friendship. "I suppose we are…"  
"I've never had a friend before."  
He spoke as lightly as if he were commenting on the weather, yet Sora felt a twinge of pity for her odd companion.  
"Well," she leaned forward and placed her hand on his, "Now you have me."  
A true smile spread over Eru's countenance, and this time Sora couldn't contain a smile of her own. However, the moment ended as quickly as it had happened, and Eru was once more bent on uncovering her secret.  
"Now, tell me why you were crying."  
And so she did, albeit reluctantly. Eru listened patiently, fetching her a tissue when the tears started again, even awkwardly patting her head in a way he must have deemed comforting. Surprisingly, Sora found that the more she spoke about her sorrow the more it ebbed. Though the pain from losing her parents would never vanish completely, it became bearable.

Her chance to reciprocate the kindness arose in the months to follow, as the boy single-handedly prevented the outbreak of World War III. She was there as Eru worked through endless nights, pouring over mounting never-ending pages of leads and evidence. She was there as he tried to conceal the toll the horrors of the case had on him, taking his hands in hers when they shook. She stood by, silent and proud, as he apprehended the culprit and was hailed "World's Greatest Detective" at a mere eight years old.

Inevitably, a bond formed between the two of them.

X X X

But now the bond stretching nearly eighteen years had been severed, leaving the young woman heartbroken; this time there would be no strange little boy to help her recover.

A few more deep breaths helped her pull herself out of memory's grasp and regain her composure. She set off at a brisk walk, cursing herself for the delay; it would now be nearly one o'clock by the time she reached her destination. A car ride would have been much quicker, of course, but she did not want anyone to know where she was going.  
After about ten minutes, as the cold had begun to seep through her thick clothing, the wrought-iron and stone gates of the estate loomed into view; she couldn't recall ever being more relieved to find herself there. A lamp on the gatepost illuminated the bronze sign bolted to the stone: "WAMMY'S HOUSE: _Home for Gifted Children_ ". She paused just for a moment to regard it, the smallest of smiles touching her lips.  
She let herself through the gate and made her way up a cobblestone path to the front entrance of a grand, Victorian mansion. Her first few knocks on the door were met with silence, and it was not until she tried a second time that footsteps could be heard approaching where she stood. With the footsteps came annoyed mumblings from a voice she was delighted to recognize.  
" _Visitors at this hour… has no one any manners_?!"  
A number of locks clicked before the door swung open, revealing an aging man who looked rather startled when he saw who had come to call.  
"S! What - "  
"May I come in please, Roger? It's quite cold."  
He obliged, stepping aside to allow the young woman to cross the threshold, bolting the door securely behind her. She took her time unbuttoning her coat and placing her gloves in the pockets, drinking in her surroundings as she did so. The scent of old books and aged wood, the sound of a grandfather clock ticking somewhere down the hall, even the way the floor creaked as she moved across it all spoke one word: _home_.  
Roger cleared his throat, bringing her attention back to him, "I did not expect you back… given what's happened. What brings you here?"  
Before she had a chance to respond, footsteps could be heard clattering down the broad staircase to their right, and soon a shout broke the otherwise still atmosphere of the house.  
"SOAR!"  
The owner of the voice, a teenage girl, leapt the remainder of the stairs and rushed to the young woman, throwing her arms about her with a cry of relief. She was followed by a pair of boys roughly her age, who looked fairly pleased to see Soar as well, though they did not rush to embrace her.  
"For God's sake, you three, you'll wake the whole house!" Roger snapped, glaring at the new arrivals, "This is the third time this month you've broken curfew!"  
"Fourth, actually." the shorter of the two boys corrected.  
Despite the fact that the young rule-breakers were almost definitely facing punishment, Soar could not repress a smile. It seemed that nothing - except the respective heights of the trio - had changed in her nearly two year absence.  
Now trying to worm his way out of discipline was Mello, his blond hair now nearly shoulder-length; a few feet a way, watching with a semi-amused expression was his best friend Matt, lanky and laid-back; and still clinging to her midsection was Carys, dear Carys, whom she'd come to look upon as a sister.  
But something was upsetting the girl, who stood with the fabric of Soar's coat clenched tightly in her fists, sniffling softly. When the later asked her what the matter was, she let out a little sob and held on all the tighter.  
"Aw jeez, Car, don't cry." Matt groaned, "She's fine!"  
Carys glared over her shoulder at him and roughly wiped her eyes with one hand.  
"I'll cry if I want! I thought she was _dead_ , Matt!" her scowl was so fierce that Matt seemed to think better of making any further comments. With a sniff, Carys turned her attention back to Soar. "I'm so happy you're home! Roger wouldn't answer any of our questions about what happened; all I wanted to know was if you were okay!"  
"I'm so sorry, Carys," Soar murmured, stroking the girl's hair soothingly. "I would have contacted you ages ago if I could've; but this case - "  
"I don't want you to work on that case anymore!" Carys exclaimed, reddened, tearful eyes staring intently at the older female. "I can't bear it!"  
Mello's attention was drawn away from his tiff with the caretaker as soon as he overheard the exchange between Carys and Soar.  
"Roger doesn't think we need to know anything about the case you've been working on, Soar. The Kira Investigation."  
"Because you don't!" the caretaker snapped. Mello ignored him.  
"Was it the reason behind Watari's death?"  
Carys looked anxiously up at Soar's face, but the young woman remained quiet. Mello pressed on, his voice rising with excitement. "Your silence is answer enough: Watari was murdered by Kira."  
The relatively light atmosphere of the room had darkened as quickly as a candle being snuffed out. Soar's face had been growing steadily paler since the first mention of the Kira case, and now painful thoughts that had been held at bay by her homecoming came flooding back. She regarded Mello, who held her gaze almost challengingly, as though daring her to say that he was wrong. She sighed wearily, and when she finally spoke, it was no more than a whisper. "Yes."  
But having his suspicions confirmed was not enough for the blond, who seemed prepared to interrogate Soar on the spot. "How could this have happened? How could L _allow_ this happen?"  
The conversation was now entering territory that Soar wanted desperately to avoid at the present time. This was not the situation she'd envisioned for relaying how the century's greatest detective had been outfoxed by Kira.  
Blessedly, Roger came to her rescue.  
"ENOUGH!" he barked, uncharacteristically stern voice jarring the teens' focus off of Soar. The caretaker seemed a little surprised at himself at this outburst, but with the attention now on himself, he quickly made an attempt to restore order. "If you prefer _not_ to have a month without your privileges, I suggest you all return to your rooms immediately."  
"Soar hasn't given me an answer yet!" Mello contested, crossing his arms in a stance that quite clearly said _I'm not going anywhere_.  
"I promise I'll tell you all I can tomorrow," Soar intervened before another row could break out, "I'll talk with you as long as you want."  
For a moment, the blond debated this offer, then, with a sigh, gave a short nod of acceptance.  
"Tomorrow then."  
He strode to the staircase, pausing at the first step to motion for his peers to follow. They followed suit, Matt nodding to Soar on his way past, and Carys giving her one final hug. As the trio's footsteps faded, Roger removed his glasses and rubbed his temples with a soft groan.  
"I'm too old for this."

Soar reveled in the heat of a merrily-crackling fire, comfortably seated in a worn leather armchair in Roger's office. The caretaker offered her a steaming mug of lemon tea, which she accepted with a murmur of thanks, and took a seat across from her. They sat in silence for a few moments, Soar staring into the dancing flames, chewing the corner of her lower lip and seemingly lost in thought, Roger merely observing her.  
"Something's troubling you."  
Her eyes flicked over to him briefly then drifted back to the fire. "Very much so."  
"Were you planning on elaborating?"  
It was strange, one of the main reasons she'd returned to the orphanage was to discuss the matter weighing so heavily on her mind. Yet, now that the time had come to do so, she found that the words wouldn't come.  
"Soar," Roger's voice held a trace of concern, "I saw how bothered you became when the talk turned to Quillsh earlier; it's completely understandable if that's the reason you're upset…"  
"It's that, but there's more, Roger, it's…" Soar breathed in shakily, the back of her throat beginning to burn. "Watari was not the only casualty that day; L… _oh God!_ L is… "  
She couldn't say it, didn't want to say it; every time those words were spoken it was a harsh, cold reminder of the truth. But with Roger hanging on her every word with bated breath, dread evident in those tired eyes, she couldn't leave the matter suspended.  
She took the plunge.  
"L is dead."


End file.
